


Something Special

by aykayem



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykayem/pseuds/aykayem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of vignettes surrounding the idea of Stiles and his very special box of tissues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Special

**Author's Note:**

  * For [witblogi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/witblogi/gifts).



Somewhere in every young man's house or apartment or designated living space, there is something special, known only to him, and hidden from the rest of the world like some kind of naughty, illicit secret. For Stiles Stilinski, that naughty, illicit secret is kept near his bed - a convenient sort of spot, if you ask him - in a pretty blue box. Completely innocent to anyone who might see them, but easily hidden from view. Why? Because this secret is for Stiles' knowledge only.

And really, he mostly just doesn't want anyone to question him. Not that he's embarrassed or ashamed. Sex is a totally natural thing. It's been around since the beginning of time. And far be it for Stiles to betray the nature of humanity.

Of course, then it gets to that time in every young man's life when he happens to come across a potentially awkward conversation waiting to happen. But Stiles has that covered.

\---

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?" Sheriff Stilinski glances over at his son, who stands in the doorway of the dining room with an air of put-on innocence that the sheriff honestly doesn't trust. He's come to realise that one simply does not question teenage boys or their antics (though never mind that he once was a teenage boy, who had plenty of antics). Regardless, the way his eyebrows lift suggests he's going to take whatever it is Stiles says with a very large grain of salt.

Stiles sniffs.

"I'm out of tissues. Are you going to the store?"

"Not right now, I'm not."

Stiles sniffs again, actually draping himself against the doorframe like he's melting. Or something. The sheriff tries not to think too hard on what kind of child he's raised and happens to be inflicting upon the world.

"But, Dad-"

"I'm busy. There's a box of tissues in the other room. Use those," he replies, dropping his eyes back to the sheets of paper and files spread out on the table around him. Stiles sniffs loudly again, and he ignores him.

"But you know the normal kind makes my nose sore! And then it chafes, and it's all raw, and there's no way I can go to school looking like that. They'd probably think I was some kind of coke addict, and that you weren't doing a very good job of, you know, your job, and we both know that kind of thing reflects poorly not only on you, but the entire force, and-"

At some point, Stiles' father begins to tune out the typical justification. 

And after it goes on for another few minutes, he starts to wonder if his son even breathes. He shifts in his seat, subtly moving to pull his wallet out, and tosses a twenty across the table. It lies there for a moment or two before silence suddenly reigns. Stiles has finally stopped talking.

The sheriff hazards a glance upwards.

"Thanks, Dad. You're the best," Stiles tells him cheerfully, snatching up the twenty and stuffing it into his pocket before darting out the door.

And everything is blissfully silent again.

\---

Stiles has never made it that much of a secret that he masturbates. Really, it's something that everyone does - theoretically, but Stiles is cool if people don't. Whatever turns their crank, basically - and if people are going to bring it up anyway, then why should he be the one to shy away and blush and make up some excuse?

Which is why he feels the need to admit to Finstock that yes, he's already played with himself a couple times, and no, he would not prefer that to actually playing lacrosse, thank you very much. The stares that follow are entirely unnecessary. It's not like he just brought up it without any reason whatsoever. That was all on the coach.

Besides, not even his amazing box of tissues with their aloe vera and soothing moisturisers could hold a candle to the feeling of winning the game.

\---

"Okay. I smell like chlorine, and I'm tired, and I didn't even get to play in the game tonight. I just-"

Stiles pauses, head tipping back against his pillow, and for half a minute he wonders how he managed to talk to himself like this during an intimate moment. An intimate moment with his hand, but never mind that.

"I just want to go to bed, penis. I just-"

He's cut off by a groan tearing itself from his throat, and he brings up his other hand to cover his mouth. His teeth graze against the back of his hand, and his eyes fall shut. It's probably the third time in as many hours as he has jerked off, and it is starting to get seriously old. Admittedly, he can understand the sort of affect Derek and his insanely scary self has on him, but this is getting ridiculous.

It's hard for him to forget the feeling of holding Derek up in the pool, though most of what his body is currently focusing on now had been taking a backseat to terror at the time. Now that he is safe in his own room, windows locked and door shut, it's coming back to the forefront.

And if it doesn't stop coming, he's going to have a major problem tomorrow. Pun intended.

"I just want to _sleep_ ," Stiles tells himself, doubting very much that his penis is actually going to listen. What with it not having ears and all that.

Though that terrible mental image sort of helps matters, even though he had already finished. Between fistfuls of really soft tissues and trying to catch his breath, he makes the mistake of letting his mind wander: naturally, it wanders straight back to the look of need in Derek's eyes, the feeling of his body against Stiles' own.

" _Fine_ ," he concedes with an exhausted sigh, "One more time. But after that, we are _seriously_ going to bed. Because I just- I cannot. I will chafe. And you remember the last time we chafed. You didn't like that. I didn't like that. Are we on the same page here?"

Of course, his penis seemed to have a mind of its own.

\---

Lydia is a classy lady. Stiles has always known this. If asked, he is the first person to pipe up with just how classy a lady she is. He never has any lack of words to describe her. Some might say that that borders on obsession. Stiles likes to think that he's perfectly normal.

So when it comes down to Lydia either being potentially defiled by being offered a Tissue (capitalised, of course, for its unique soothing qualities, and the nature of its usage) or being offered toilet paper and a lie through gritted teeth, Stiles would must prefer the former. He nudges his tissues that much further into the shadows of his headboard-cum-bookshelf, and offers her a quick lie. Her eyes seem too tear-filled for her to really notice the holes in his logic. He just hopes she never catches on.


End file.
